“No,” said Benny, “I never did.”
“Neither did I,” said Paul, “but I’m curious to do so now. You needn’t go with me; the sight might pain you too much.”
“What! Just to go to the jail, and look up at the windows? Oh no; that won’t hurt me. I’ve done that lots of times.”
“Very well,” said Paul, moving toward the jail. He looked up at the windows as he walked; finally he stopped where he could look fairly at the small window of the cell where the counterfeiter was. The sun was not shining upon that side of the jail, so Benny could barely see there was a face behind the window. Evidently the prisoner was standing on a chair, for the little window was quite high. Paul’s eyes seemed better than Benny’s, however, for he continued looking at that window for some moments. When he finally turned away, it was because he could not see any longer, for his eyes were full of tears.
THE WINDOW OF THE COUNTERFEITER’S CELL.
“Why, you’re crying!” exclaimed Benny, in some astonishment. “What is the matter?”
“I’m so sorry for the poor fellow,” replied Paul.
“I am too,” said Benny—“awfully sorry. I wish I could cry about it, but somehow my eyes don’t work right to-day. Some days I can cry real easily. Next time one of those days comes, I’ll come over here with you, and let you see what I can do.”